


longings from a great distance / reached us

by twoheadedcalf



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, Mostly., Mutual Pining, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Slow Burn, Unresolved Emotional Tension, if it ever gets resolved that is. i havent decided yet, like eventually. he will show up eventually.
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-05
Updated: 2019-09-05
Packaged: 2020-10-10 06:35:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20523557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twoheadedcalf/pseuds/twoheadedcalf
Summary: He can see Caleb now from his vantage point, dressed down in the way he’s been ever since they first sailed off, hair half pulled up, a paper in his lap that his long, thin fingers keep tracing. Fjord can’t see in detail from this far away, but he remembers the calluses in his right hand, the knots that make up his knuckles, the weird way his fingers twist.He stops that train of thought before it careens off the tracks. Instead, he steps down to Caleb’s level and strides towards where he’s sitting.“Thought y’all navigators ought to be looking at the sea.” Like this, with Fjord standing over Caleb while he looks down, he can see the back of the wizard’s naked neck, the bony arch of his spine, the place where his skin disappears beneath his tunic.





	longings from a great distance / reached us

**Author's Note:**

> ('you know ur boy got his free taco' voice) you know your boy got their free unfinished fic yo! anyway here it is. please read it and enjoy it and leave comments.
> 
> thanks to mckinzie (@pastelwerebear on twitter) for proofreading for me and helping me with grammar!!!! i wuv you!!

The first time Caleb ever saw a large body of water outside of painting in the Town Hall and the illustrations on the books Frau Anna let him borrow, he was eleven years old. It was his first time leaving Blumenthal.

After weeks of Mother’s pestering, Father finally conceded and decided to make a trip to the nearest town for new pelts. Winter was nearing and there were no hunters in this small city. Their few sheeps’ wools would not be enough.

It was Mother that made Caleb go on the trip. At the time, and for a while after, he’d thought it was a ‘search for manhood’ type of thing - maybe it was finally time for him to grow up?

Now, after the many times he’s gone over the memory remembering his Mother’s eyes straying from him, to his Father’s face, to the man’s leg, Caleb knows that was not the case. She was worried about his leg and how the limp worsened when the weather was about to change. She didn’t want him alone, wanted Caleb to take care of him, He’d never realized it at the time.

It’s weird, looking back at it now and realizing how deeply human they both were, not at all the golden gods young Caleb made them out to be. How they were such fragile creatures and yet so good, so important. He knows that now. For all the good it does him.

The trip had been uneventful, only a week to go there and come back. The neighborhooding town of Baden was just as much of a sorry place as Blumenthal, small and modest although the presence of a family of hunters seemed to reassure them all.

On the way back, though, his Father, very uncharacteristically, took a detour out of the fields and through the forest.

By that time, Caleb adamantly refused to believe the childhood stories about the horrors that lived in there. It didn’t stop him from shivering when they first entered it, though.

The forest, however, wasn’t the dark abyss he thought it would be. It was lively with the singing of birds and the rustling of leaves, colorful and bright with the flowers littering the ground and the sunlight filtering in through the tall trees’ canopy.

It smelled fresh and clean instead of dewy and perfumated like the fields normally did, nothing brushing against his skin and making him itch.

After a while, he started hearing it, a great rumbling that reminded him of thunder and drowned out the sound of their steps and his own breathing. It took him some time to recognize the sound for what it was: rushing water.

The river was deep inside the forest and only a few kilometers away from Blumenthal and Caleb hadn’t known it existed until then.

His Father stopped by the riverside and started filling his canteen. Caleb kneeled too and dipped his hand into the cool water instead - he’d never seen or felt or drunk water so fresh before.

On the other side of the river, a ways back, he could see a fawn sipping at the water, unaware of their presence. It only ran away after Caleb startled when his Father shook him out of his reverie.

That river became a permanent and unnerving fixture of his childhood; it was the place where he learned to swim, where he went to the first - and only - time he fought with his Mother, where he, Eodwulf and Astrid had their first time.

Caleb tries not to wonder too much about it, knows it won’t do him any good. There’s no reason for the river to be gone, after probably being there for longer than a century. He doesn’t know what he’d do with himself if it disappeared. Probably nothing but you never know.

The sea is nothing like the river back ho- back in Blumenthal. He instinctively knew that already, obviously - he’s not an idiot - but seeing is different than knowing.

Nothing compares to the vastness of it - he knows, deep inside his bones, that the ocean will always remain, despite everything. Floating in the water at the beach in Nicodranas, he’d wondered if that’s what it felt like to be dead, if taking apart the pieces that made him a person, that made him Caleb, would result in this peacefulness.

He doubts it. Only fire and rot await him on the other side.

It’d been a distracting presence in the back of his mind ever since they started sailing, the sea. Like it demanded to be looked at, a pressure on the back of his mind that’d make him abandon the book he was reading and stare at it for hours.

He’d taken to staying inside, below deck, just so he’d actually be able to get any studying done and not listen to the ocean’s siren call.

It’s not so bad, then, being made to be a navigator type inside the ship. He already enjoys staring out into the sea for hours on end, at least he has something to watch out for now, instead of getting lost in the yawning blue of everything.

It’d be nice, if he could ignore literally everything else about their situation. Avantika haunts his mind like a ghost, abated for now but always looming closer and closer, a smirk on her lips and a dagger in her hand. 

Caleb doubts she would even need a dagger. She’d probably be able to tempt Fjord into doing something dangerous, not cost-effective at all, something absolutely stupid, and he’d do it. Then they’d all be done for.  _ Fjord _ would be done for. 

Or maybe not. He shouldn’t foster any illusions about knowing what the hell Fjord wants. He just has to hope it won’t bring Fjord down and the rest of The Mighty Nein with him.

Caleb just hopes he won’t have to do anything drastic - it seems like none of the others appreciate it much when he takes the lead, even if it gets them out of trouble. Fjord, though, it seems like  _ Fjord _ wants him to do something drastic. Wants him to be reckless.

Their conversation from yesterday has been imprinted into his mind, much like literally everything else in his life, considering. It’s easy to conjure Fjord’s image in his head, his hair curling around his forehead, his tunic billowing with the wind, salt pooling in the corners of his eyes, face serious.

He doesn’t know what he would have said if they were anywhere else, if they didn’t feel like there were eyes on them at all times - it seems like Fjord always has a way of pulling things out of him, harmless stuff that he wouldn’t say to anyone else, that he wouldn’t say to anyone at all. He has no idea what could come spilling out.

Then again, if they were in any other situation, Fjord wouldn’t need to pull him aside. They wouldn’t be having that conversation at all.

But Caleb doesn’t think Fjord wants out of this situation - he’s striving for something here, was striving for it before Avantika ever came along, tapping into his undiscovered potential - maybe he just wants more control out of it. Or at least to _ feel _ like he has control. Caleb can relate to that.

Fjord’s voice saying ‘can I count on you to right the ship, if need be?’ echoes inside his head, his cadence fluctuating like he wants to make sure the point gets across. Caleb hopes he understood. They’d be in deep shit if there’s a misunderstanding between them.

Caleb is pretty sure he knows what ‘quick judgement’ means and he positively dreads it. It remains unclear to him if, in the gaps between Fjord’s words, in the things he couldn’t say, if had meant Avantika or himself. Caleb would never be able to do that, has no right to do it. And yet, it’s a responsibility that’s been bestowed upon him and nobody else.

It’s true that he believes Avantika might kill Fjord and his belief is not unfounded, not at all - even Fjord himself agrees with him. What the half-orc doesn’t seem to get, though, is that there are many ways to kill a person. She could have him dead without ever laying a hand on him.

A harmful hand, at least. He’s sure she’s had her hands all over his green skin in one way or another at this point. It aches at him, but faintly, in a mostly detached way. Bodies can serve a purpose, he learned that when he was young and it remains true, even if he doesn’t like it - it’s nothing he hasn’t done before, nothing he wouldn’t do.

It’s sad to see it happen, but it’s something easy and quick that can be actively chosen. He understands why Fjord would do it, simply to appropriate some kind of leverage to himself. It’s smart.  _ Fjord _ is smart.

It seems like he is the only one that gets that. Most of the others seem to think the… sexual tension is par for the course. Jester seems to be the only one not into it but for very different reasons.

Fjord has been half-glued to Avantika’s side, learning what it’s like to be the most important person on a ship, and everytime the tiefling has the two of them in her sights, a frown appears on her face, her lips half-curled into a snarl.

That- that does hurt at him, makes him burn in shame and disgust with himself. Even if Avantika wasn’t here, even if Fjord wasn’t letting her hands roam his body, Jester would have that uncharacteristic expression on her face.

Maybe not now, maybe not so soon, but at some point for sure. She’d be looking at him like that, in anger, in resentment. He has no right to whatever feelings are bursting in his chest, that must have been growing for a while now, even though he’s only recognized them recently, far too late to stop them.

He has never been more aware of his own inadequacy. It’s shameful to have these feelings blooming inside of him, and for someone so good, too - an asshole but kind anyway, loyal, fun, a  _ good _ man; these feelings don’t belong to him,  _ shouldn’t _ belong to him, not to the absolute rot that he is. Both him and this...infatuation, not to say something worse, belong to the fire, to the rust. He can’t let them be more than what they already are: the deep, encroaching thing taking over his ribcage and making his heart beat faster; this mundane thing that makes him feel normal doesn’t belong to people like him, doesn’t belong to people who have done what he did.

He couldn’t do that to Jester. He couldn’t do that to Fjord. This bright, glowing, fresh, blooming thing will just be left to fester and die and rot inside of him, much like everything else does.

***

Fjord has always loved the sea, has been in love with it for as long as he can remember, the seafoam, the waves, the blue of it, the horizon, everything taking over and taking root in his mind. It’s what made him settle down happily (or not that happy at all, as it seems) as a sailor.

Still, there’s something very enchanting about ships. He remembers seeing one for the first time, when he was still just a pup, and recognizing it as another majestic sea beast, one he hadn’t heard of until then, hadn’t seen in any picture book.

The inner life of a ship only served to deepen that wonderment. There was just something comforting about being so close to people, the camaraderie born out of living in such close quarters without anything better to do but form a connection, about having a clear purpose, a function - nothing as comforting as seeing the path ahead of you.

Of course it’s not as simple as that, of course it’s not as romantic as that; nothing ever is - he’d found that out after the first few jobs, when the only people he had a genuine connection with were Vandren and Sabien. And look where that got him. Still, he’d made his bed and was ready to lie in it for the rest of his life until… Well.

In his experience, life inside a ship goes back and forth between feeling like there’s too much to do and not nearly enough to entertain yourself with. He remembers days of frantically carrying barrels back and forth and pulling ropes until his hands bled followed by long weeks of nothing, where he’d get drunk on sunlight, saltwater and something else too, if Sabien was in a good mood.

His previous experience doesn’t seem to be helping him much in Avantika’s pirate ship. Which he should have expected, really. He’s never been this busy on a ship before, and never this busy for this long either. But then again, he was never this important either - even at the height of his sailing ‘career’, even as one of Vandren’s few trusted men, he never got to make decisions. He never had  _ authority _ . It’s a heady feeling and he’s been trying to not let it get to him too much.

Fjord trusts The Mighty Nein to knock him down a peg if that’s needed. They need to keep up appearances, it’s true, can’t be too clumsy with each other but he knows there’s a limit. He guesses he’ll know where it lies when he finally crosses it. He might have been toeing it all along.

It’ll probably blow up in his face, like most things do. It hasn’t happened yet, though.

This is the first time in a few days where he has a bit of a reprieve, the first time in a few days where  _ someone _ doesn’t want him to be looking at  _ something _ , that Avantika doesn’t want him to be looking at something, doesn’t want him to be looking at  _ her _ .

Maybe this was just a really elaborate way of keeping him on watch, making sure he doesn’t hinder her power, making sure he doesn’t inspire any mutinous thoughts within her crew, making sure he doesn’t make _ plans _ . He has to admit: it’s worked so far.

The rest of The Mighty Nein have been free to go back and forth between The Mistake and The Squalleater as they please. And so is he, in theory. His new duties, however, have kept him so busy that he hasn’t moved much. Or at all.

He’s barely seen Jester and Caduceus in the comings and going and he hasn’t seen Yasha at all. He hasn’t spoken with his actual crew in a long time and he didn’t even notice it. Maybe this break is Avantika relaxing and slackening his leash, maybe it’s her way of saying he’s been  _ a good boy _ . An unpleasant shiver goes down his spine at the thought.

Beau and Caleb have been the only steady presences at this side of the line since these new responsibilities were bestowed upon his shoulders. They barely speak to him, never ask anything, but every so often, he sees a flash of Cobalt Soul blue in the distance, or a curl of auburn hair out of the corner of his eye.

He can see Caleb now from his vantage point, dressed down in the way he’s been ever since they first sailed off, hair half pulled up, a paper in his lap that his long, thin fingers keep tracing. Fjord can’t see in detail from this far away, but he remembers the calluses in his right hand, the knots that make up his knuckles, the weird way his fingers twist.

He stops that train of thought before it careens off the tracks. Instead, he steps down to Caleb’s level and strides towards where he’s sitting.

“Thought y’all navigators ought to be looking at the sea.” Like this, with Fjord standing over Caleb while he looks down, he can see the back of the wizard’s naked neck, the bony arch of his spine, the place where his skin disappears beneath his tunic.

When Caleb looks up, Fjord is looking down right at his brown eyes instead. He tries not to jump back at the eye contact.

Caleb lifts up the paper in his hand. “Am I not supposed to be looking at maps, then?”

And now that he’s actually looking at it, he recognizes it as a map of the Lucidian ocean, with additional notes in Caleb’s chicken-scratch lettering detailing the currents, the wind patterns, and the main trade routes. Definitely not one of Avantika’s, then.

“I, ha. I wouldn’t know. Never been a navigator.”

“I wonder why.” And looks down at the map once again, tracing a path on it with his fingers, though there’s no ink underneath it and it’s not a route Fjord recognizes. Maybe the place they are headed?

There’s an awkward moment - though it may only be awkward for him - where Fjord doesn’t know what to do: there’s no answer to a burn like that and he has nothing to offer Caleb, hands empty and hanging by his sides, slowly clenching into fists.

Then Caleb says, “May I help you, Fjord?” Like it’s an invitation, not a dismissal.

Fjord shuffles before bending down to sit beside Caleb. “Nah. Was just wondering if there’s anything you want to tell me about the group’s- training. How things have been going.”

“Not really. Nott has been practically snorting black powder, but-”

Fjord snuffles out a laugh. “I can imagine.”

“That’s par for the course, _ja_. Jester and Caduceus have taken over the kitchen.”

“I’m surprised they haven’t taken over the whole ship.”

“Caduceus is almost there. It seems like him and the crew of The Mistake have grown close. Jester, she…” His voice falters. “Not much keeps her entertained.”

“I thought the paint would help.” Fjord says, his voice coming from somewhere in his body that must not be his vocal chords.

“She doesn’t want to waste it.” Caleb responds, his face hidden behind the curtain that is his hair. His tone remains carefully level. Then he wildly veers off the subject: “I have no idea what Yasha is doing but she doesn’t seem especially bothered.”

Fjord doesn’t know if he’s relieved or disappointed that Caleb decided to skip the Jester subject. He’s been waiting for the other shoe to drop in regards to this too and dreading it just as much. It’s not like he would know what to say, anyway. He wouldn’t know what to say to Caleb about Jester. He wouldn’t know what to say to Jester  _ at all _ \- except blurt out something about Caleb, probably. It’s better if he doesn’t say anything. Better to keep his damn mouth shut.

“And Beau?” Fjord shuffles again so he can drop his legs over the side of the ship.

“She’s good at this making barrels thing or whatever it is. She’s been going back and forth a lot. I’m sure you have seen her.”

“A lot of barrels to be had in these two ships, huh. I wonder why.”

Caleb looks at him, the corner of his mouth only slightly curled up, and taps the side of his nose. 

Fjord huffs out a chuckle. “And you? What are you doing here?”

“I’m free to come and go as I please.” Caleb’s tone fluctuates throughout the sentence, in a way that Fjord can only recognize as self-satisfied.

He turns his head where it’s leaning against the rails to look at Caleb, only see the wizard staring out into the ocean, the wind blowing back his hair. Fjord’s gaze does not drift. “Oh, are you now?”

“Yes. I am part of Avantika’s crew, aren’t I? And both ships belong to her, don’t they?”

“I guess they do.” Caleb looks feline like this, like a cat taking a nap in the sunlight. Cat-Frumpkin has been gone for a few days now - Fjord wouldn’t be surprised if the wizard adopted some of his familiar’s feline characteristics in his absence. It fits him. It makes sense. “Maybe you should tell the others that, too.”

“I don’t think they would much appreciate hearing it.” Caleb says, matter of fact. “Besides, not everyone needs to be everywhere all the time.”

“Only you.” He says, not like a question, but not unlike one either.

Caleb looks at him out of the corner of his eye before dipping his head to the side in confirmation. “Only me.”

***

Not many materials survive the constant onslaught of the sea; saltwater degrades and undoes - it’s the only thing it knows how to do. Caleb has taken to keeping his coat and scarf put away not just because he isn’t used to the high temperature, although that is also true, but because he knows they wouldn’t be able to bear it.

That coat was meant to last, and it has. The rough material still protects him even though it’s more shreds than actual fabric right now. The inlaid fur still warms him even though it’s grimy and stained. The scarf still hides and comforts him. They still serve their purpose - he’s not ready to see them shredded by brine, taken away by the ocean. Caleb is not ready for many things.

Not even people manage to survive the sea’s bombardment, their skin crinkled and shrivelled up like rotten fruit, their bodies peppered by the water’s salt-evil kisses. Not all sailors look as dashing as Fjord, he knows - most of them don’t, in fact. Most of them look like raisins and die in shipwrecks. He’s glad that has not been the case for the half-orc. 

He has to re-wrap his arms twice as often as usual now, for hygiene reasons. It’s a pain, both in the literal and figurative sense of the word. It’s hard to get a moment of privacy in an overcrowded ship that he’s not exactly welcome in and it’s hard to ration his limited stash. That’s easy to deal with, though. The real problem, the thing that catches like a fish hook in his neck and pulls him down is that- they hurt. He takes away the pressure, takes away the pretend-veil, looks at them, looks at who he really is, sees the truth in them, is confronted with the faint green of the scars, like crystallized flowers growing out of his arms and it feels like pins and needles underneath his skin, like all of his nerves are alight and being assaulted.

He never did manage to find out if the emanating pain is in any way real or just his mind playing nasty tricks on him - it wouldn’t be surprising. It’s not like he can just ask someone, either way. It’s possible that no one even has the answer.

Looking at them once a day is - not fine but it’s what he’s used to. Any more than that is already torture. Which is what he deserves, really - he has no right to shrink himself and turn away from this, from who he really is; he has to look and he has to hurt and he has to suffer. That’s the way things work for people like him.

Caleb isn’t the only one who has taken to putting away his most prized possessions. Jester’s favorite rings and paints - magical and non-magical - stay almost exclusively inside the haversack, he knows, and Caduceus’ delicate china hasn’t made an appearance in a long while. Caleb knows that Jester doesn’t want her items  _ stolen _ ; he’s not sure about Caduceus’ motivations.

Nott has kept her precious trinkets hidden away ever since the beginning of their journey in some place no one knows, some place only she is capable of locating, even in her permanent half-drunk state.

Caleb catches a glimpse of them, every once in a while, either on a particularly stressful day or on an unbearably boring one. A flash of gold that blinds him or a red jaded reflection and then, on the other side of the boat, he sees the goblin with something intricate-looking in her hands, her cheeks dusted with black powder.

He’s pretty sure they help her calm down which is, honestly, a lot better than driving herself into a drunken stupor.

There’s not a great number of things that people who live out in the woods, who sleep inside someone else’s barn on a lucky day, get to have as keepsakes. Anything of value is used to get food, to get a blanket to warm them, to get a place to sleep for the night. This is how it works: you live life one day at a time, worry about the most basic needs and refuse to think about the lack of comfort, the lack of softness, the lack of warmth-

That’s what life was like for Caleb and Nott, for the most part, before meeting The Mighty Nein. And before that, when it was just him and his hellish mind, alone with the never-ending loop of memories, it was even worse.

Ever since Zadash, Caleb and Nott have built a few tentative rituals, mostly trivial routines but - they serve a purpose for them. The kind of things that people who live in the woods and pull cons can’t do but adventurers can.

Nail polish is hard to come by and not exactly cheap but it’s easy enough to buy in a city as big as Zadash, especially when you’ve just received a good sum of money for killing an invisible, giant sewer spider.

Most of Nott’s nail polishes are glittery or sparkly in some way, flashy colors like gold and silver. Shiny stuff, much like her other trinkets. Ever since she first bought them, the goblin makes a point of sitting Caleb down and painting his nails and another point of not letting him return the favor. It’s a good destressor, for both of them.

The habit hasn’t been abandoned just because they are inside a ship - he’s sure she doesn’t let go of it out of sheer stubbornness and resentment for the sea - but she refuses to let her favorite color get degraded by the saltwater. So for the last few days, Caleb’s nails have been exclusively wine-red or black. He doesn’t really care - it looks good either way and it doesn’t hinder his spellcasting or transcribing abilities.

Getting his nails done does mean, however, that he can’t do anything with his hands for at least a while and that reduces the number of activities he can fulfill to pretty much none.

He has been sitting on the stairs to the upper deck for only a little longer than 15 minutes, his eyes closed and face turned upwards towards the sun, when a shadow looms over his body.

“You dehydrated or something, Widogast?”

Caleb opens his eyes to Fjord looming over him, his white tunic rippling in the wind, a red bandana keeping his slightly overgrown bangs out of his face. Caleb resolutely does not stare at the dip in the fabric that lets him see Fjord’s chest. He does not.

“You’re not dying on me, are you?” The half-orc says, the right corner of his mouth tilted up, like he’s a moment away from smiling. Caleb does not stare at that either.

“I’m fine.” He says, raising his hands to showcase his nails. Fjord’s eyes track from his face to his hand and linger one moment, two moments, before there’s a spark of recognition.

“Oh! I thought you guys stopped doing that. Y’know, because of the ship.”

“Nott managed to reserve a few paints for the occasion, it seems.” He braces his hands on the stairwell steps, makes sure to keep his fingers spread and pushes himself up.

“Looks good. Like always.” There’s a pause as Caleb rights himself, making sure he’s got his legs under him and that he won’t get dizzy from standing up too fast. Fjord clears his throat. “Are you busy right now?”

Caleb tilts his head and stares at him. It takes Fjord less than a second to get it.

“Right.” A breathless chuckle. “Stupid question.”

A strange shade of violet-brown has permanently colored Fjord’s cheeks ever since the beginning of their sea voyage so he can’t identify the half-orc’s embarrassment through those means. The hand that comes up to rub against the back of his neck is telling enough, though.

His sharp claws seem to catch on the green skin but Fjord doesn’t flinch at all. Caleb keeps his expression carefully blank. He never really understood that: what kind of comfort does rubbing the back of one’s neck bring? Eodwulf did it too, before it was trained out of him. His mind matches his expression and goes blank too, then.

“What do you need, Fjord?”

“Nothing, really. Was looking for company.”

Caleb hopes his eyebrows do not raise too much and, if they do, that Fjord does not take offense.

“Well, I am not  _ busy _ , as you can see.”

Fjord huffs. “Sure.” He starts leading them towards the side rails.

“Nein. Not there.”

“Huh?” He turns back, already a couple of steps ahead.

“My nails are still drying. I won’t be able to hold onto anything.” When Fjord just gazes at him, he adds: “I will fall.”

“No, you won’t. I won’t let you.”

Well. There’s no proper answer to that other than: “Okay.”

They make their way to the rails on the right side of the ship, where they are able to overlook The Mistake sailing a few paces away from them, and see a blur of blue running around that, to Caleb’s limited human vision, could be either Beau or Jester (he will not get glasses, no matter how many times Nott asks him about it). 

Fjord drapes himself over the wood, the upper half of his body practically hanging out of the boat, unwaveringly watching the waves, while Caleb keeps a careful watch over the other boat and Fjord himself, in an upright stance, keeping his hands away from the random sprays of seawater that rise up towards them. Fjord seems to delight in them, smiles when they hit his face.

Fjord doesn’t keep a hold on his body like Caleb was half-expecting him to, but he stands close, closer than usual, and braces his own body whenever Caleb’s legs shake, so the wizard can have something to hold on to, to lean on if he needs. It’s reassuring. Caleb tries not to think too hard about it.

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me @bicalebwidogast on twitter or @female-pain on tumblr :3


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